There's Something On Stake
by Ridiculosity
Summary: Mary was a fit match for John, right up until Sherlock realised she was annoyingly perceptive. About Molly, of all things. His urge to wipe that smirk off Mary's face seemed to exceed the fact that he knew she didn't lose bets. One-shot. Companion piece to 'Mr. Holmes.' Sherlock/Molly.


**Everybody really seemed to enjoy my Molly/Sherlock one-shot, and my friend suggested I write about the 'bet' between Mary and Sherlock which was mentioned in the previous one-shot. So. Here we go. **

**I own Sherlock almost as much as I own the world. **

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><p>It was almost unfortunate, how Sherlock seemed to have developed an affinity for attachments. He could now successfully call Mary a part of his inner circle too. He was quite pleased with her, in general. She was kind, young, smart, the adequate amount of danger necessary for John…<p>

"You know Sherlock – I'm beginning to think you won't last too long pretending that you don't want to thoroughly snog Molly Hooper."

Or not.

Sherlock stared at her for a whole minute. She continued flipping through her magazine. She had said it incredibly lightly, like she was commenting on the weather, not on what was an intricate part of Sherlock's nature.

"Excuse me?" he said in his deep baritone.

"I'm sorry?" Mary looked up. "What were we talking about?"

Sherlock stared again, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe you just said something about me wanting to snog Molly Hooper."

"But that's old news, isn't it?" said Mary, going back to her magazine. "You've been wanting to since that Jim – thingy happened."

"You just referred to the most dangerous mastermind of the century as 'Thingy.' Additionally, it wasn't even him. Just someone very smart and very power hungry and very military."

"He was a thingy," said Mary dismissively. "And I know you have been wanting to, Sherlock, so you best not pretend otherwise."

"Why don't you hang onto that theory?" he said snarkily.

"It's not a theory any more, Sherlock," she said in half a song and half exasperation. "It's practically axiomatic."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Even if I wanted to, I doubt I'd kiss Molly Hooper. She might faint or something."

"We both know her better than that."

"I'm not joking, Mary. It isn't Molly's regard for me that stops me; it is her disregard for herself."

"So you admit that you do have _something _for her!" said Mary triumphantly.

Sherlock glared at her, and turned red. "I don't think so," he said cuttingly. "I was merely pointing to the fact that Molly is supremely uncomfortable around me."

"Aww, come on Sherlock," said Mary with a familiar glimmer in her eye. "I saw you going at the different effects decay by water and decay by insects have on bodies."

"It's her research paper!" he said hotly. "I was merely debating."

"I don't think you understand the word 'merely,'" said Mary cheerfully. "It means something insignificant. Not monumentally important as a chipping in Mr. Holmes' personality."

Sherlock fumed. "Mary, I assure you, I do not wish to kiss Molly."

"Ask yourself that," said Mary, idly flipping a page.

Sherlock didn't know what was left to say. How was he to tell her about his doubts about Molly? How he watched cheerful Molly Hooper everyday, a practical wall of isolation, trying to warm her toes.

What would it be like to kiss Molly Hooper?

He wished she was as easy to understand as Janine. It felt like slugs in his mouth when he kissed Janine.

On the other hand, the element of mystery would probably make it better. Just like his cases, Molly, would probably be different every time he kissed her. Humble once, loving another time, caring another time, and so on.

He had to stop this train of thought immediately. Molly wasn't a kissing puzzle. She was his flatmate. His pathologist. His friend.

"You're thinking about it right now, aren't you?" asked Mary slyly, not even looking up from her page.

Goddammit Mary.

"Sherlock, I'm willing to bet you that you won't hold out more than a month now," said Mary with a grin.

"For God's sake, Mary!" exclaimed Sherlock. "Fine. What are the stakes?"

"Mmm-mm," said Mary. "Singular. Stake. If I win, I want you to babysit Abigail. You barely spend time with her these days. It's unhealthy, you being her godfather. Besides, John's been begging me for a night out."

"Very well," gritted Sherlock. "If I win, I want you to not mention this again."

"You'll find that it won't be needed," said Mary with a grin.


End file.
